


First Out

by vassalady



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Injury, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vassalady/pseuds/vassalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is married to star baseball player Steve Rogers. Their relationship isn't public, but that changes after Steve ends up in the hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Out

**Author's Note:**

> Not the best, I'll freely admit. Constructive criticism welcome.

Phil woke up alone in bed. He took his time getting up, listening to the morning radio. He showered and dressed before eating breakfast. His oatmeal was already waiting for him on the stove, staying warm from the residual heat of the burner. He served himself, adding extra cinnamon sugar and raisins, and ate slowly while reading the paper.

When he finished eating, he checked his watch. He would have to leave for work soon. He placed his bowl in the dishwasher, headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and picked his suit jacket up from the bed. He shrugged it on with a glance in the mirror. His tie was hanging just a little crooked. He straightened it, patted down the front of his jacket, adjusted the cuffs, and then nodded to himself, satisfied.

He picked up his briefcase from its place beside his desk, slipped on his shoes, and left the apartment.

Two minutes later, he popped back in again. He took his shoes off before heading into the kitchen. He picked up the message pad, scribbled down his note, and then stuck it to the fridge. After double checking that was all he needed to do here, Phil left for work once again.

The subway was crowded as usual. Despite this, he managed to snag a seat. He pulled out his book, a sci-fi thriller, and settled back into a universe of space pirates and alien terrorists.

He almost missed his stop. With his thumb in the book, Phil pushed through the crowd and emerged just before the doors closed behind him.

Fury and Hill took up a few floors of an office building in the heart of New York City. Phil greeted Carol at the front and settled into his desk, ready to tackle the cases that were already waiting for him.

He was proud of his work as a paralegal. He once had wanted to be a lawyer, but he found pulling cases for Nick Fury, Maria Hill, and their team to be invigorating enough.

That day, he noted with interest that billionaire playboy Tony Stark sauntered in yet again. With Stark there, it meant a nice bonus at the end of whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into this time. Phil privately hoped it was another false paternity suit. Those were just fun.

The morning passed calmly. Clint came around, asking if he wanted to join him for lunch.

And that was what Phil had forgotten. His lunchbox was sitting back home in the fridge.

"Oh, come on, you never eat out," Clint said. "It's fine, we'll catch some Thai. Sound good?"

Phil agreed, although he was sorry about his forgotten lunch. There had been leftover white lasagna in there.

The Thai place was delicious, Phil had to admit, and Clint was always good company. They ate at the bar so that Clint could keep one eye on the television.

"You should come over for dinner one night," Clint said through a mouthful of noodles covered in spicy peanut sauce. A little sauce dribbled down his chin, and he wiped it away. "It should be a Tuesday or Thursday, though, those're Natasha's days to cook."

"No confidence in your own cooking?" Phil said, amused.

"No, just lazy. To be honest, Natasha usually just orders out."

They laughed.

"You could bring your wife, too, Nat won't eat her."

Phil twisted the wedding band around his finger. He smiled as he said, "Thank you for the invitation. We just might take you up on that sometime."

Phil sipped his soda as Clint talked about Stark's visit that morning. To Phil's disappointment, it was just an employee suing him.

Clint shrugged. "So long as we get that bonus."

Fury hated Stark, but he always got him out of trouble. Phil was confident it would work out. There would be less drama, though, which was a let down.

"You follow baseball, right?"

Clint jumped around topics like Stark jumped around women. "Yeah," Phil said, "you could say I'm a fan."

Clint gestured behind Phil. 

The television was too quiet for Phil to hear, but there was the star of the Mets, Steve Rogers, chatting with a pretty talk show anchor.

Steve smiled and blushed and scratched the back of his head in a way he did when he was feeling just a little out of his depth.

Clint said, "You've got a trading card of his on your desk, right?"

Phil did. It was framed and sat beside the picture of his parents. The card featured a portrait of Steve Rogers holding a baseball and mitt, and Phil often would return Steve's grin as if it were meant just for him.

Lunch ended, and they returned to work. Phil spent a lazy afternoon pulling files on previous lawsuits like Stark's. When five o'clock rolled around, Phil bid everyone a good evening and took the long trip home.

He ended up giving his seat to an elderly man, so he was unable to comfortably read with one hand hanging onto a rail and being shoved between a glum teenager and a perfume-laden woman.

The apartment was empty when he got home. That wasn't unusual. He put his briefcase away and tossed his suit jacket back on the bed. He loosened his tie, taking a seat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. He checked his watch. If he started dinner now, it would be ready by seven.

The TV on in the background, turned up loud enough so he could hear it in the kitchen, Phil began taking out ingredients for home made pizza. He had prepared the dough and sauce yesterday, but he couldn't decide if he wanted to make it Hawaiian or go with a selection of meats.

In the end, he split the pizza in half, making them both. He pulled out a cooked chicken breast and began chopping it into bits.

" _And in other news, baseball star Steve Rogers of the New York Mets was involved in a car accident today after an interview with talk show host Darcy Lewis-_ "

The knife slipped, cutting into Phil's finger. He hissed and stuck it quickly under the faucet.

" _No official word on his condition has yet been released, but sources within the hospital say his injuries are severe-_ "

Phil grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it around his finger. He used Scotch tape to secure it. It wasn't perfect, but it would hold. 

" _No one else was injured in the accident. Rogers rose to fame when Mets manager Chester Phillips recruited the then unknown player-_ "

Phil dashed to the bedroom for his wallet and jacket. He fumbled with the laces of his shoes.

" _-put to rest rumors he was transferring to the LA Dodgers, stating, 'New York is my home and always will be.'_ "

Just about to leave, Phil turned around and strode into the kitchen, shoes still on, to turn off the oven. He left the TV alone.

When he hit the street, Phil realized he had to take stock of the situation. First, he checked his voicemail. He had missed a call from earlier that day, and he had a voicemail.

" _Hi, thought I could catch you during your lunch break, but I guess I was late. I'll see you tonight. Love you. Oh, for dinner, I thought we could save the pizza for another night and-_ "

The message abruptly cut off. Phil did not try to guess why.

He called Nick Fury. He needed help.

" _Calm down,_ " Fury said to him. " _Just stay where you are, we'll send someone around to pick you up._ "

But a car didn't come fast enough, and the second Fury called with the name of the hospital, Phil was off.

The one time Phil needed a taxi, he couldn't seem to get one. He took the subway, but every stop seemed to take far too long. At last, he emerged several blocks from the hospital, and he ran the entire way.

Panting while clutching his side, he made his way to the desk.

"I need to see Steve Rogers."

"Relation?" the nurse asked. "I'm sorry, sir, but fans can't-"

"He's my husband." Phil breathed deeply, trying to recompose himself.

The nurse looked at him with surprise, but she picked up the phone and called someone.

"There's a man claiming to be Mr. Rogers's husband... Yes... Just one moment." She held the phone against her shoulder and asked Phil's name. After conferring again with whoever was on the line, she directed him up to the third floor. Phil thanked her.

The elevator ride was the longest of Phil's life. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. When he felt a sharp pain in his injured finger, he stopped.

Phillips was in the hallway. He gave Phil a once over. "So you're Phil."

"Why wasn't I called immediately?" Phil said as calmly as he could. "I am his emergency contact."

Phillips snorted. "Technically, no. Peggy's still listed."

"She's been gone for years."

"So we didn't update the information. You're here now." As he passed, Phillips clapped him on the shoulder. "Later."

Phil stood outside of the room for a long time. He took slow, deep breaths. He stared at the floor. And he tried not to panic.

Not knowing was worse. He screwed up his courage and pushed open the door.

Steve was lying in the hospital bed, asleep. There was a large bandage on his forehead, his right arm was in a cast, and he was connected to an IV drip. But other than that, he seemed fine. No breathing tube. No leg casts. And this wasn't ICU.

There was a chair in the room. Phil pulled it over, and his body, exhausted from the past hour of tension, just let go. He collapsed in the chair with a shaky sigh.

Steve woke up then. He blinked rapidly for a moment, eyes adjusting to the light. Phil smiled as Steve focused on him.

"Hi," Steve said in a voice that was rough and scratchy.

"Hi," Phil said, and it turned into a choked back sob.

"Sorry I missed dinner."

Phil shook his head. "You called me earlier. What were you going to suggest?"

Steve frowned, taking his time to answer. "I can't remember. I don't remember calling."

Phil felt a little ill. "That's fine, it's not important."

Steve's good hand, his left hand, twitched, and Phil picked it up gently, giving it a squeeze. "You okay?"

Steve nodded. "Broken arm, bruised ribs, could have been worse. Hurts like hell, though."

"I love you," Phil said. It came out in a rush, jumbled together, and he brought Steve's hand to his lips. He took a breath, saying slower, "I love you, Steve."

With a smile, Steve replied, "I love you."

No one kicked Phil out. He supposed it was their apology for the mix-up. So he spent the night in that chair beside Steve's bed, head pillowed on his arms on the bed, and Steve's hand on his head.

When Phil woke up, he felt Steve's hand slip down. He looked over at Steve, who was peacefully asleep.

Phil took his time getting up. His back ached, and his neck was sore. He had to peel his face from his watch, which stung, and he rubbed his cheek, certain it had left a mark. He ran his thumb over Steve's. It had been a long time since he had woken up with Steve by his side on a weekday.

He kissed Steve's cheek, leaving before he woke up.

On the way home, he picked up a coffee and bagel. At the apartment, he realized he still had paper towel taped around his finger. The wound was shallow, and he cleaned and bandaged it properly. Phil turned off the TV, changed his clothes, collected his briefcase, and picked a photo from his desk.

He saw the note he'd left on the fridge.

_Did you see if they could spare you the 30th? - Phil_

He crumpled up the note and stuffed it in his pocket.

Phil got a seat on the subway, but this time, he didn't bother reading. Space pirates and alien terrorists just didn't interest him today.

At the office, Phil greeted Carol as usual, set up for the day at his desk, and took out the photo. It was already framed, and he placed it between the picture of his parents and Steve's trading card. Satisfied, Phil got to work.

Clint wandered over while it was still early. He propped a hip on Phil's desk. "Did you hear about Rogers last night?" he said, shaking his head. "Funny thing, that had to be right after lunch."

Phil clutched the folder he was holding tighter than he had to, creasing it a little. "Yes," he said. "And I don't know why I didn't hear about it earlier."

Fury chose that moment to come over. "So, do I have to sue anyone?" he asked.

Phil shook his head. "No, it's fine. Thank you, sir."

Fury squeezed Phil's shoulder briefly before pointing at Clint and saying, "When you have a moment, I need to talk to you." Then Fury left them alone.

"Phil?"

"Nothing to worry about, Clint."

That was when Clint noticed the new photo. Perhaps it was a bit gratuitous, out of all the ones Phil could have chosen. It had been of their wedding, which had been a very small, completely unpublicized event in upstate New York, in the backyard of Phil's childhood home. Dressed in suits, they had been posing for the pictures when Steve had decided that he would rather just kiss Phil silly, and almost all the pictures had been Steve surprising Phil by peppering him with kisses.

In this one, Steve was kissing Phil's cheek while Phil was still looking at the camera and trying to not break out into laughter.

Clint rose an eyebrow at Phil. "Well," he said after an awkward beat, "you never mentioned this. That's one hell of a wife."

Phil smiled a little at Clint. "We've tried to keep a low profile."

As the day went on, a combination of the photo and Clint's gossip mongering meant a stream of people came up to Phil to offer their condolences, ask after Steve, and wonder what it was like to be married to a baseball superstar.

And then, sometime in the afternoon, someone yelled through the office, "Coulson's husband is on the news!"

There was a TV in the lounge, and Phil and his colleagues crowded in. Clint appeared by Phil's side, and he gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze.

Steve, looking more sickly under the glare of press lighting than he had in the hospital to Phil's wonder, sat beside Phillips. He had a smaller bandage on his forehead now, and the camera was pulled back far enough to capture his cast in the frame.

" _I want to thank all my friends and fans for the support they've shown. I don't think I've ever received so many flowers or well wishes, and I wish I could thank every single one of you personally. I would like to also thank my manager, who has helped me so much through the years and hasn't abandoned me even though I'm no good to him now._ " Steve indicated his cast, and there was a wave of awkward laughter from the reporters and a few chuckles from Phil's colleagues. Phillips patted Steve's shoulder. " _I am pleased to say I should make a full recovery with time and patience, and I thank the excellent care I’ve received from my doctor and nurses. But most of all, I'd like to thank Phil Coulson, my husband and the love of my life, who I know will always be by my side, no matter what._ "

A few people cheered in the lounge at Phil’s name.

" _We've kept our lives private for personal reasons, and maybe I'm being selfish today by saying this now, but I want everyone to know just how important he is to me. I want people to say, 'That's Steve Rogers's man.' I might not be throwing for awhile, but I appreciate all the love and support everyone's given me._ " Steve looked into one of the cameras. " _And most thanks to you, honey. I love you._ "

The TV returned to the news anchor, who said, " _After dropping that bombshell, Rogers refused to take questions, citing rest orders from his doctor. Rogers' partner is a paralegal at the law firm Fury and Hill. In 2006, Rogers lost his longtime girlfriend, Peggy Carter, when an unknown assailant attacked her outside a shopping mall. Some say that this, not the gay relationship, is why Rogers has kept his marriage a secret._ "

"This is national news, you know," Clint said. "You're going to be all over the place by the end of the day."

To be perfectly honest, Phil was okay with that. The day finally ended, after much more well wishing. On his way out, Carol stopped him, telling him to go out the back. She'd been ferreting tabloid journalists and reporters all day. He thanked her, and left the building as discreetly as he could.

He managed to get as far as his apartment building before running into the media. But they had found the location of their modest apartment, and Phil supposed they had been camped out there since the press conference.

A tall, buff man stepped out of the apartment building and ushered Phil inside while cameras flashed around him. Phil had met him once, one of Steve's bodyguards when he was doing public appearances, Sam Wilson was his name.

As Sam led him upstairs, he said, "I wasn't on duty yesterday, but I heard that when Steve woke up, he wouldn't stop asking after you. I'm sorry you weren't contacted earlier, I don't know what happened. If I was there, I would have gotten you personally."

Phil thanked him for his words.

Sam took up position outside of the apartment, leaving Phil and Steve alone. Steve sat on the couch, looking far too tired for Phil's liking. Phil walked over to him, and Steve smiled. He held up his left arm. Phil slid in beside him.

Steve kissed Phil’s temple. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just...” He closed his eyes, and Phil placed his hand on Steve‘s chest to comfort him. “If something ever happened to me, or, God forbid, to you, I don’t want there to be any question.”

Phil looked at Steve’s cast for a long moment. It hadn’t really hit him before now, alone at home with Steve, that Steve might have died yesterday. A wave of emotions threatened to overcome Phil all of a sudden, and he stopped to focus on his actions. He was sitting on the couch with Steve. Steve looked at him with a worried expression. And then Phil kissed Steve softly.

“I’m happy to have you home,” he said.

In the end, that was all Phil really wanted. He was proud of Steve, certainly. He loved seeing Steve stand on the pitcher’s mound, the crowd cheering his name, watching him wind up and throw. He loved seeing Steve’s face on magazine covers and on TV. And sometimes, just feeling Steve’s presence in the little details, his clothes in their closet, the lunches he packed for Phil, breakfast on the stove, that was enough.

Other times, Phil just wanted Steve. This was one of those times. 

Phil sunk to his knees in front of Steve. He undid Steve’s pants, and then took him in his mouth. He watched as Steve let his head fall back, his fingers gently scraping at Phil’s scalp. Steve’s frustration with his broken arm was clear. He overcompensated with his left, running it repeatedly over the back of Phil’s head.

Phil was patient, and at last, Steve came. Phil suppressed his own arousal, ignoring Steve's complaints, opting instead to curl up with Steve, the television on in the background. They didn’t talk about what their lives would be like from then on. They didn’t talk more about the accident.

Eventually, they would have to. But now wasn’t the time.

 

He hadn’t noticed falling asleep, but a gentle kiss on his forehead woke him.

“I would have taken you to the bedroom, but...” Steve said, with a glance to his arm. 

Phil sat up and stretched, and he caught Steve rolling his shoulder. He felt a little guilt at that. “Come on, you need your rest. I imagine the tabloid writers, paparazzi, and Sam have all gone home.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but he grinned at Phil and allowed him to help him up. Phil helped him change, and they laughed together when Steve told him how Phillips had been forced to help earlier. “Does this mean I get to help you bathe, too?” Phil asked as they slipped into bed.

“Mm, definitely.”

 

“ _Did you hear the latest news? The Mets’ star pitcher, Steve Rogers, came out yesterday by publicly thanking his boyfriend._ ”

“ _I think you mean husband, Stan._ ”

“ _Right, and what a tizzy baseball fans are in today! Already, everyone and their mom has hit the blogosphere with their opinion, and boy, is it a minefield-_ ”

Phil woke up to early morning radio chatter. He heard a soft sigh beside him, and he turned his head to Steve, who was watching him.

“Morning,” Phil said with a yawn.

Steve chuckled and returned the greeting. “You have work today?”

Phil thought about it. They could spare him for one day, and if people were still showing up at the office looking for him, maybe it was best.

“Fury can deal without me for one day.”

Steve motioned Phil closer with the crook of a finger. “It’s hard for me to get up at the moment, so you’ll have to come to me.”

Phil leaned over and kissed Steve. But he cut it short by pulling back and saying, “Up, Rogers. You may be on leave, but that doesn’t mean we have to waste the whole day in bed.”

Steve groaned. “How about some pain meds before we build Rome?”

“I’ll get you whatever you want,” Phil replied, and he brought Steve in for another kiss.

As much as it pained him to see Steve injured, Phil was still going to enjoy Steve’s forced vacation. They would put it to very good use.


End file.
